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Gathering of Friends, Foes, and Ex-Lovers
When Efthyl had stocked up her blood inventory ("Damn your bloody perfectionist tendencies," Margritte had commented), the two of them left her cave. Lock in place this comfy have' Let not friend nor foe enter safe All objects of my beloved cave Make all intruders be enslaved. "The chant is done. Can we go now?" Margritte asked impatiently. Efthyl shook her head and waved her manicured hand over the forestry, causing them to tangle up around her cave and make it inaccessible. Then, she called out a goodbye to Lesterwing before gulping down a vial of what looked like mist to the untrained eye. Margritte only raised an eyebrow. "The forest can help you fly, right?" Efthyl grinned as she took to the air with her newly-formed batlike wings. Margritte rolled her eyes and followed suit, using the branches to stretch her limbs and guide her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder how you control the forest when you're just a Blood Witch," Margritte complained. "Just?" Efthyl called out in disbelief. "If my memory serves me well, I'm a second-rank witch, my friend!" "And I'm third-rank, yaddayadda, I know. But shouldn't plants be outside of your area of expertise?" "It just takes some manipulation." Efthyl winked. "But when you put it like that... Blood is way out of your area of expertise. It's basically like supernatural magic to you, huh?" "Like... starcraft?" The two witches fell silent in mid flight, remembering their former friend. Then Efthyl gritted her teeth in determination. As they both descended into the clearing near to the inner town, they spotted someone who seemed like Belial conversing with the odd necromancer. Efthyl tilted her head to hide her light blush and made sure to land in a most extravagant way which also meant that she would be invisible in a tint of mist. Her ugly bat-like wings disappeared as well. Margritte remained in a tree branch, which supported her weight as she chanted it to fertility. "Efthyl?" Belial called out in some surprise. Although he was under a faceless and formless glamour to everyone, Efthyl, who had encountered him before in many an intense situation, could see parts of his features. The necromancer could also stomach seeing him in his natural form. Margritte knew enough to avert her eyes, glamour or no glamour. "Hello witches," the necromancer greeted, pulling down his hood all the way down as a polite gesture. At once the trees reached for him. "Never call them by what they are, Djali!" The necromancer fended off the plants with his skeletal hand from which new, rotten flesh protruded. "I didn't know! Well, may I have the pleasure of knowing your names, m' fine ladies?" Efthyl rolled her eyes. "Is this how you charm the undead?" "Never tried it. Who knows if it might work?" Belial cast a wary glance in their direction. "Look, the reason we're here-" -"Is to gather our forces. I'm not stupid, Belial. And your glamour is fading." He tensed up as she intoned his name, but before he could reply... the people of Mundus began to arrive in flocks. "Darn it... Can I borrow a hood, mask, and cape sufficient to wrap around my features, Djali?"